Nightfall: Caulborn 5

by Nicholas Olivo

  Galahad grinned. “I don’t recall reading about King Arthur or Merlin in any books of the Bible.”

  “The Bible was written and finished long before Arthur and his knights roamed the land, Daniel, don’t be flippant. But Arthur’s legend has been passed down to inspire those not of a religious bent to live a good life, be kind to others, to inspire others to greatness, to fight for those who could not fight for themselves. These were the tenets of a knight of the round table. Even if a person didn’t believe in God or the teachings of his Son, that person could attempt to exemplify the virtues of those knights.”

  She fixed the boss with a hard stare. “I believe that you, Daniel MacPherson, possess many of the traits that those old knights held so dear. I believe that you can become the first paladin of God that this world has seen in over a century.”

  Galahad’s mouth worked for a moment, but no sound came out. His mouth sounded dry when he finally replied. “You think I’m a knight of the round table?”

  She shook her head. “The round table is long gone. But the spirit of the knights lives on. There have been others, paladins who served God in their work for justice. Not preaching from a pulpit, not trying to rationalize the evil in the world, not trying to encourage people to find their own faith, but rather leading people to great things; battling injustice and destroying evil.”

  “Have I heard of any of these people?”

  “The last one died in 1799. His name was George Washington.”

  Galahad was silent for a moment. “And now God wants me to serve as a paladin?”

  “I think you have the ability,” she replied. “But there is a test.”

  The boss raised his eyebrows at her. She gestured to her side, and a block of red marble appeared, with a sword thrust into it.

  Galahad’s jaw dropped. “Is… is that Excalibur?”

  “No,” Leslie replied. “This is the sword of Lancelot’s son, Galahad. The legend of Excalibur is very well known, and the story behind this sword is similar. One day, this sword and marble appeared by the round table. Can you read the inscription?”

  The inscription at the base was in Latin, and the boss mouthed the words as he translated. “Never shall man take me hence but only he by whose side I ought to hang and he shall be the best knight in the world.”

  Leslie nodded. “Arthur, having Excalibur, did not try to draw this sword. He encouraged all his knights to attempt to take it, but only Lancelot’s son, barely a youth at the time, could take it from the marble. He went on to find the Holy Grail and was assumed into Heaven when his task was complete. Others who have drawn this sword have fought back oppressive kingdoms, battled demons, and inspired countless thousands to lead better lives, to hold to strong virtues and ideals. If you can take the sword, you will be undertaking a tremendous responsibility, but one that someone who believes as you do will find spiritually rewarding.”

  Galahad was rubbing his chin, considering. “What would I have to do?”

  “Whatever the situation calls for,” Leslie replied. “Sometimes, you may have to fight. Sometimes, you may have to negotiate. But above all, you must serve as the example for others to follow. You can say no, you can walk away. You are not obligated to try to draw the sword. You will be free to find your own way to serve God in the future. But, as you yourself said, God rarely takes direct action these days. So keep that in mind as you make your decision.”

  Without hesitating, Galahad walked forward, gripped the sword’s pommel and pulled it free of its marble base. The blade radiated a faint light, and Galahad held it up before his eyes, examining its edge.

  “You are the eleventh person in the last thousand years to successfully draw that sword. From this day on, you will no longer be known as Daniel MacPherson. You are now Galahad Eleven.” She smiled, and her voice lost a touch of its formality. “And I see great things for you.”

  Galahad lowered the sword. “What do I do now?”

  “There is a group within the city known as the Caulborn. These Caulborn police the supernatural, and a group of them are about to attempt to deal with some very angry ghosts nearby. Their leader is a brash man who is going to get them all killed. You need to step in, send the ghosts on to their rest, and keep the Caulborn alive.”

  Galahad blinked at her. “Ghosts? Supernatural police?”

  “You’re going to find, Galahad, that the world is a much bigger place than you thought. Many of the legends and stories of things that go bump in the night are true. You will have to protect people from some of those things, and some of those things you will have to protect from people. Now is not the time for a closed mind.”

  The block of red marble vanished. “And what do I do with this?” Galahad asked, hefting the sword. “I can’t run around the city with a sword, I’ll get arrested.”

  “Let go of the sword, as if you were about to drop it.” He did, and before the sword had fallen half an inch, it vanished, reappearing along with the block of marble. “Now imagine drawing it again.” He closed his eyes, and the sword vanished from the marble, reappearing as a weapon made out of solid light. The boss stared at the sword, a look of wonder on his face. “The sword will come when you call it, and vanish when it is no longer required. Now then,” Leslie’s voice had taken on the business-like tone I knew so well. “We don’t have much time.”

  The Glimpse shifted. Galahad and Leslie were now standing outside an abandoned building I recognized as Danvers State Hospital, known better as Danvers State Insane Asylum. The place had been shut down years ago, after evidence of unethical experiments and treatments on mentally handicapped patients was discovered. In 2007, most of the asylum’s buildings were torn down to make way for condos, but they were all still standing whenever Galahad had been given his sword.

  He stood outside the main building, a Victorian monstrosity looking all the more sinister with its boarded-up windows and graffiti. The whole place had an air of menace that I could feel even through the Glimpse. “The Caulborn are inside,” Leslie said.

  “You aren’t coming with me?”

  “This is your test, Galahad Eleven.”

  He blinked at her. “I thought drawing the sword was the test.”

  She gave a small smile. “That was part one. This is the real test. Good luck.” She vanished as if she’d never been there. The boss stared at the spot where she’d been and then gave himself a shake. He summoned the sword, as if to make sure it would still come, and then dismissed it before stepping inside.

  I’m not sure how Galahad was supposed to find the Caulborn. The asylum was built across dozens of buildings on seventy-seven acres. Maybe that was also part of Leslie’s test. The boss stopped as he stepped inside the main building, staring around at the shattered remains of what once must have been an impressive lobby. His gaze passed over the dust-covered reception desk, the overturned chairs, and the broken clock on the wall. To me, it looked like a scene straight out of Fallout or Bioshock. Galahad closed his eyes and lowered his head in prayer. And when he looked up, his gaze went immediately to a door I hadn’t noticed, as if someone had just pointed it out to him.

  And a part of me realized that was probably exactly what had happened.

  Galahad picked his way across the room, passing shattered pots for plants, rusting wheelchairs and more dust-covered furniture. He rubbed dust from a sign on the door, revealing the words “To Tunnels.” He pushed it open and vanished into a stairwell.

  The Glimpse shifted again, and I found Galahad running down a tunnel lined with old pipes as big around as a man’s waist. Water leaked from some of them, and Galahad splashed as he ran. Ahead there were sounds of combat, yells from the living and shrieks from the dead. Galahad rounded a corner, catching the wall as he did, enabling him to take a turn at speed without losing his footing.

  The scene he ran into was o
ne of utter chaos. There were ghosts everywhere, shrieking in rage as they surged toward a group of humans in the center of the room.

  “Damn ankle biters,” one of the men swore as he fended off a ghost with a device that looked something like a cattle prod. I blinked when I realized it was Julius Garside, the late warden of Ashgate Penitentiary. He looked to be in his early thirties, still had all his hair, and was about fifty pounds lighter than when I’d last seen him. “Tanis,” he barked. “What’s the status on that ectoplasmic containment field?”

  I jogged over to where Kristin was frantically attaching wires to a small metal box. She looked pretty much as I knew her today, except her hair was cut short and was totally brown. The ghosts that surged toward Kristin were battered away, and I realized Mist was somehow fending off the incorporeal attacks. She froze. “Garside, we’re missing the power couplings.”

  “That’s impossible, I checked all the bags myself.”

  “Well they’re not here,” Kristin called back. “I can’t contain these ghosts without them.”

  Garside adjusted his grip on his cattle prod. “We’ll just have to beat these little buggers into submission, then.”

  I took a good look at the ghosts for the first time. They were all children. Their faces were masks of anger and hate, but the oldest of them couldn’t have been more than nine. They shrieked and raged, taking swipes at Kristin and Garside. There were three other people in the room, as well. I didn’t recognize two of them, but the third was the Codex.

  “Annabelle,” Garside called. “Any luck with the incantation?”

  “There’s too much water in here,” she said. “It’s grounding my spell’s energy.”

  Garside ground his teeth. The ghosts surged around them again, a large force of them moving behind Galahad, blocking the exit. For his part, Galahad didn’t seem scared at what was going on around him. He simply appeared to be assessing things, watching how Garside and the others worked, watching the ghosts. Especially the ghosts. But not in a combative way. In fact, the more I watched the boss’s face, the more I saw pity there.

  “We’ll have to fall back— Who the devil are you?” Garside asked, seeing Galahad for the first time.

  “I’m here to help,” the boss said.

  “Stay the hell out of our way,” Garside barked. “You have no idea what we’re dealing with here.”

  “It seems to me that you are dealing with children who have been wronged,” Galahad said, walking into the room. “Children who are scared. Children who came someplace in the hopes of being healed, only to be betrayed by those who were supposed to be helping them.” Galahad’s face was a mask of pain and regret, as if he were feeling the emotions of the ghosts around him.

  “Get—” Garside was cut off as a tall man dressed in a black leather trench coat stepped out of the shadows and caught him by the shoulder. The newcomer had dark hair swept back from his face and a black goatee. He was holding what looked like a Tarot card in his free hand, and his black eyes were sparkling bits of jet in the room’s dim light.

  Garside blinked and tried to pull away from the man. “Wolfram? What are you doing here? Let me go!”

  “A prophecy is about to begin,” the man called Wolfram said in a gravelly whisper. “I am here to witness it. You shall not interfere.”

  Galahad moved into the center of the room, the ghosts swirling around him. They took swipes at him, their hands tipped with claws made of incorporeal force. It’d be like getting attacked with telekinetic razors. And while his clothes were ripped, and lines of blood appeared on his forearms, Galahad didn’t so much as blink at the pain.

  Instead, he knelt in the water, surrounded by ghosts, and summoned his sword. He placed it point down, resting his forehead against the pommel. Light pulsed along the sword’s blade, then drifted out in shimmering rings. As the rings of light touched the ghosts of the children, their demeanor changed, their faces going from anger to a more neutral expression. Their eyes cleared, and some of them took tentative steps toward Galahad, placing their hands on his shoulders. Over the next few minutes, each of them came forward, touched the former priest, and then disappeared.

  When it was done, Galahad stood up, covered in sweat.

  “What did you do?” Garside asked. He seemed to be so stunned that he’d forgotten to be angry.

  “Helped them find peace,” Galahad replied.

  “It begins with the children who are gone and yet still here,” Wolfram murmured. “The eleventh paladin will come. His blade will be just and merciful, and he will lead monsters and gods.” As Wolfram spoke those last words, he turned and looked directly at me.

  Chapter 8

  I released the Glimpse with a start. It took me a moment to remember where I was. Right. I was riding shotgun in Galahad’s Buick. The boss was silent, his hands at ten and two, as we waited for a light to change. “I’m guessing you have questions,” he said. “I suspect you saw more than I would have told you about.”

  Galahad is one of the few people out there who can tell when I’ve experienced a Glimpse. I nodded. “A bunch. What’s up with Leslie?”

  “Lessenthia acts as a sort of adviser to me, should I need it. When I assumed the title of Galahad, she agreed to stay with me. No one other than Mrs. Rita knows the truth about her identity, so do not share that information.”

  “But what is she? She did magic, didn’t she?”

  “From what she has told me, Leslie trained under Merlin for a time. What else?” The boss’s tone told me not to press for anything more about Leslie. The light changed, and Galahad eased us forward into traffic.

  “The ghosts at the asylum, what were Garside and Kristin trying to do?”

  Galahad sighed. “Garside believed that the ghosts needed to be contained. They had been tormenting the living. In typical brute-force fashion, Garside tried to imprison the ghosts.”

  “And you… what, sent them on to their rest instead?”

  “Something like that. Not all the spirits left that day. Many of them are still there, still unable to let go of the anger and grief at how they were treated. I return there every week to offer what comfort I can.”

  “But those buildings were destroyed years ago.”

  “True, but the tunnels still exist, if you know how to get to them. Anything else?”

  “There was a man named Wolfram. He spoke a line of the prophecy.”

  “And that is what I would have told you about had your Glimpse not stolen my thunder. Stranger Wolfram has been pronouncing prophecies for decades, and he personally witnesses those he deems of importance. That night, I made myself known to the paranormal community, and Wolfram made sure to tell people about me.”

  “And this incident is what got you command of the Boston office instead of Garside,” I said.

  “Heavens above, how much did you see in that Glimpse, Vincent?”

  “No,” I said shaking my head. “Kristin told me about that.”

  Galahad looked relieved. “Yes, Annabelle, the Codex, was unimpressed with how Garside conducted the operation. She and I spent a considerable amount of time together over the next few months, and when the time came for her to recommend a new head of the Boston office, she suggested me.”

  “I’m glad she did,” I said. “I don’t think I would’ve liked working for Garside.”

  “Julius was not without his faults, but, rest his soul, he was a capable man. He lacked the proper temperament for running a field-agent office. The prison was a much better choice for him.”

  “You said a while back that you had the full text of the prophecy Wolfram mentioned. You also said that it looked like the bad guys win.”

  “Prophecies are funny things, Vincent. They are never clear, and often can be twisted after the fact to match events that have occurred. You can see that throughout h
istory, especially with Nostradamus. Perhaps Wolfram is right, and the Dodici Prophecy is coming to pass, or perhaps he is not. Regardless, I am not one to resign myself to fate. God gave me free will, and I intend to use it.”

  “You don’t believe in destiny? That there’s a path each of us needs to take?”

  “Of course I do,” the boss replied. “But how we get there is up to us. And I refuse to believe that evil will triumph over good. Evil has its victories, for certain, and evil is persistent, but good is always stronger and will always win in the end. That is never a question in my mind. And it should never be one in yours, either.” Galahad put his directional on and slowed down. I was surprised to realize we were nearly there. We parked the car in a garage a block from the museum, where we met up with two people from Ashgate.

  The first was a short Indian woman I recognized from earlier in the week. Nitya barely came up to my chin, but looked comfortable in the black tactical uniform she was wearing. The man, tall and gangly, was new to me. He introduced himself as Dennis.

  “We’ve been briefed on upyr activity in the area, sir,” he said to Galahad. “What else can you tell us?”

  “There is an upyr named Vasylna in the Aquarium. We believe her to be alone, but we must all remain vigilant in case she has others with her.” Galahad pulled out his cell phone and tapped it a few times. “I’ve just sent each of you a photo of the target. If possible, she is to be taken alive. What did you bring for weapons?”

  Dennis produced his sidearm. “Standard 9mm silver rounds, sir,” he said. “We’ve got some garlic smoke grenades as well.”

  The boss nodded solemnly. “If luck is on our side, you won’t need to use them.”

  “Do we know where inside she might be?” Nitya asked. The image Galahad had sent her appeared on her wrist guard, displayed on a screen I hadn’t realized was there.